The bowls arrived with a soft clack of clay on scarred wood. Steam curled up, carrying the sharp bite of melon seeds and the earthy comfort of pounded yam.
"Here is your order, sir," Bachi said, setting the larger bowl before Sango with careful pride. "And here is your accompany's order. Please enjoy."
Sango's smile unfolded like a banner in sunlight. "I'll gladly do so. Tayo, dig in."
Tayo stared at the pale, doughy mound beside the thick orange stew as though it were a puzzle carved from another world. "Wats dis?" he asked, voice small, brows knitted.
Sango chuckled, tearing off a corner of yam. "It's food. Haven't you eaten anything before? That would be impossible."
"I know what food is," Tayo said, tilting his head. "But not this kind."
Bachi straightened, eyes bright with the chance to be useful. "Well, let me explain this for you. After all, I cooked it." He puffed out his narrow chest. "The name of this food is pounded yam and egusi. As the name suggests, it is made out of pounded yam, and it is meant to be eaten with your hand. It is highly nutritional and also our family's passed-on delicacy."
"Ohhhh, I see," Tayo echoed, the words soft, testing.
are you…?"
Sango's spoon paused halfway to his mouth. "Uhhh…?"
"Yeah." Bachi's eyes gleamed. "I read some books—I don't know if it's real or not—but I read about some other creatures that exist beside humans. Like the Titans and so on. But I can't say they are true or not. After all, humans are known to make up legends and myths to answer questions too great for their imagination. But now that I've seen you, I know there is nothing too great that can't be real. I believe you're not a normal human like the rest of us."
"Shut up!" The restaurant owner's voice cracked like a whip from the doorway. He stormed in, apron flapping. "Don't you know it is wrong to speak to customers about sensitive matters like that…?" He turned a furious glare on his son. "I thought I raised you to be better than this, Bachi."
Sango's thoughts raced behind his calm mask. *I'm starting to think that coming here was a big mistake. I'm trying to avoid an audience, and here is this kid speaking like the press.* He swallowed a mouthful of egusi, then spoke evenly. "He has a rare skin condition which turned his skin black."
Bachi's face flushed crimson. "Ohhhhhh, I see. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I offer you my deepest apologies." Disgust at his own bluntness twisted his mouth.
Tayo's small hand tightened around his spoon. He turned—not to Bachi, not to Sango, but to the far corner of the wall where shadows pooled thick as spilled ink. "Hey, sir," he said quietly, "you don't need to lie to him. You are in no position to do that."
Sango's heart stuttered.
Tayo's gaze drifted back, settling on Bachi with an ancient steadiness no child should own. "I don't blame him for being curious," he continued, voice clear as a temple bell. "After all, humanity was built on curiosity. They try to understand everything so they can make sense of what is going on around them. And if an explanation can't be made, they choose to fear it."
The lantern flames flickered. For a moment, the crooked restaurant held its breath.